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There are other, more reasonable ways to approach the Rye Tavern, but for our purposes taking Old Sandwich Road off Beaver Dam Road was perfect.
The restaurant was, after all, trying to recreate the feel of Prohibition, when subterranean speakeasies and remote roadhouses were the last refuge for the alcoholically inclined.
The Rye Tavern served well as an example of the latter – the remotely located road house – and on this night as we bounced over the tar moguls and cave entrances that characterize Old Sandwich Road’s surface, it was easy to imagine puttering up to the tavern in a black Model A Ford overflowing with late-blooming flappers.
To add to the mystique, a thick early evening fog had descended on Plymouth, so our first glimpse of the Tavern was through a mist.
So far, so good.
We were a bit disappointed that we didn’t need a password to enter (though we were ready with the one from the Marx Brothers’ Horse Feathers – “swordfish”). But once inside, we were impressed. The female wait staff was suitably attired in classic black cocktail dresses, spoke with mock Brooklyn accents (where wd youse guys like to be seated) and swing-era jazz sounded from an imaginary combo in a hidden back room.
But, then again, we weren’t here to check on the accuracy of their historic re-creation; we were here for a drink.
Cocktails, to be specific – authentic cocktails from the era when cocktails were (necessity being the mother) invented.
Repeal appeal
This, we probably should have explained up front, was the 78th anniversary of the repeal of the 18thamendment (Prohibition) and the Rye Tavern, which occupies a historic building that rumor has it has seen more than its fair share of illicit conduct – was offering what they called “vintage cocktails.”
This was, for veteran journalists, an obvious opportunity to do some research.
As long as a story was written and published covering this occasion, there was an opportunity to be reimbursed for the cost of the undertaking: the gas expended; the tolls paid; and even the cocktails consumed. (Just kidding boss…)
It was important, then, that the tab indicate that research was undertaken. And, by that, I mean we needed to make sure we didn’t just drink, we sampled, sampled as many of the vintage cocktails as we could, so as to be able to differentiate between them for our readers.
There are other, more reasonable ways to approach the Rye Tavern, but for our purposes taking Old Sandwich Road off Beaver Dam Road was perfect.
The restaurant was, after all, trying to recreate the feel of Prohibition, when subterranean speakeasies and remote roadhouses were the last refuge for the alcoholically inclined.
The Rye Tavern served well as an example of the latter – the remotely located road house – and on this night as we bounced over the tar moguls and cave entrances that characterize Old Sandwich Road’s surface, it was easy to imagine puttering up to the tavern in a black Model A Ford overflowing with late-blooming flappers.
To add to the mystique, a thick early evening fog had descended on Plymouth, so our first glimpse of the Tavern was through a mist.
So far, so good.
We were a bit disappointed that we didn’t need a password to enter (though we were ready with the one from the Marx Brothers’ Horse Feathers – “swordfish”). But once inside, we were impressed. The female wait staff was suitably attired in classic black cocktail dresses, spoke with mock Brooklyn accents (where wd youse guys like to be seated) and swing-era jazz sounded from an imaginary combo in a hidden back room.
But, then again, we weren’t here to check on the accuracy of their historic re-creation; we were here for a drink.
Cocktails, to be specific – authentic cocktails from the era when cocktails were (necessity being the mother) invented.
Repeal appeal
This, we probably should have explained up front, was the 78th anniversary of the repeal of the 18thamendment (Prohibition) and the Rye Tavern, which occupies a historic building that rumor has it has seen more than its fair share of illicit conduct – was offering what they called “vintage cocktails.”
This was, for veteran journalists, an obvious opportunity to do some research.
As long as a story was written and published covering this occasion, there was an opportunity to be reimbursed for the cost of the undertaking: the gas expended; the tolls paid; and even the cocktails consumed. (Just kidding boss…)
It was important, then, that the tab indicate that research was undertaken. And, by that, I mean we needed to make sure we didn’t just drink, we sampled, sampled as many of the vintage cocktails as we could, so as to be able to differentiate between them for our readers.
There were only three of us self-assigned to this story, though, and 10 vintage cocktail concoctions offered on the Rye Tavern’s special menu.
We call that a “challenging assignment.”
More challenging, in fact, than you might think, as several members of our crack investigative team had other assignments ahead of them that night – assignments at which it would not be looked on favorably to pass out in the middle of a budget presentation.
But, then, as I said, we are veteran journalists.
The research begins
The ingredients of these vintage concoctions told a story of a time when there was an art to the creation of cocktails.
There was a time when a cocktail was – though still of dubious nutritional value – a culinary creation, not just a way of disguising the taste of liquor.
Before hard lemonades and wine coolers, there was, for example, a drink like the 21st Amendment, a creation of the Rye Tavern featuring Redemption bourbon, fresh muddled lemons, simple syrup and a house-made ginger beer.
The lady in our group of investigative researchers got a bit of a buzz from the “Bees Knees,” which brought together Maker’s Mark bourbon, a honeyed simple syrup, fresh lemon juice and muddled fresh organic cranberries served in an “Old Fashioned” glass.
She took one sip and pronounced it “the cat’s pajamas.”
Our hard-boiled beat reporter surprised us by selecting the “Cucumber Sidecar,” which strolled to the table in a long-legged martini glass boasting a mixture of Hendricks Gin, Cointreau, fresh lemon juice and, yes, muddled cucumber.
“This cuke’s a beaut,” he chimed.
My first choice, the “Sazerac,” featured a variety of classic ingredients, including New Orleans-style Peychaud bitters, rye whisky and an absinthe “rinse” served with a flaming orange twist.
That should have been the password at the door, we decided: flaming orange twist.
This was certainly a twist on our usual Monday night, when we often find ourselves in an uncomfortable chair in an overly bright room, watching dedicated public servants working up a thirst.
It was a nice change, for a change.
Next year, we plan to repeal the amendment, again.
You can never do too much research.
